


Three Guns

by wouldratherbeaunicorn



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Depression, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, Non-graphic suicide description, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Zoe really needs help, and Connor deserved better, and Evan needs a good friend, huh, i just love Zoe a lot, no im not projecting what are you talking about psh, obviously, that's a fact, the murphy siblings tried and no one can tell me different, there aren't any guns though, they realize some things, zoe is bouncy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldratherbeaunicorn/pseuds/wouldratherbeaunicorn
Summary: "Three guns and one goes off, one's empty, one's not quick enough." - Tessellate, Alt-JConnor would succeed.Evan would fail miserably.Zoe wouldn't let herself try.Or: Three suicidal teenagers trying to decide whether or not to fight for their lives.





	1. One Goes Off

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first things first! There are a lot of potential triggers so please please please read them all! 
> 
> The title comes from Tessellate by Alt-J. I just really feel like these three would listen to Alt-J together because it's something they'd all like. And, you know, when you write a story about three suicidal teenagers, sometimes you gotta take a break and imagine them happy.

The thoughts started when he was fourteen. His freshman year.

His last friend, Elias Rodriguez, had ditched him over Thanksgiving Break. Because he was gay.

And then, Connor was alone. Zoe was still in middle school, and she’d been leaving him alone more often anyway. He was alone. He was alone, and he hated himself, and something was _wrong_ with him. Completely wrong. He had a defect. _Infected_. Ill. He should be gone.

He froze when he realized what exactly he’d thought. But it didn’t feel wrong. So, he thought about it. Went through with it. Got hella high, took one of the blades from Zoe’s razor, and-

It had ended with him in a psych ward for a week. It had ended with his father screaming that he _just wanted attention_. It had ended with his mother threatening divorce if his father didn’t put him into therapy. It had ended with Zoe refusing to leave him alone. Instead, she'd taken to snuggling against Connor every night. She sobbed inconsolably when her parents told her she needed to sleep by herself again. Connor hated himself a bit more when he saw her in the middle of the night. She'd fallen asleep against his wall after their parents went to sleep, tear-streaked face scrunched up as the hand by her side clenched and unclenched.

He picked her up, wondering vaguely when he’d gotten so tall. Zoe was _tiny_. And Connor still remembered a time when they were the same height. When they’d trick people into believing they were twins. When they were best friends. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he carried her to her bedroom. But he didn't leave after he tucked her in. He watched her, scratching at the scars on his wrists.

He hated what he was doing to her. She was only thirteen, she didn’t deserve this. Zoe Murphy deserved better than a brother whose only goal in life was to get high and kill himself. She deserved… better than Connor.

And so he thought about trying again. He grew his hair out over sophomore year. Gave away all his old clothes, started pushing Zoe away, more than he ever had before. He was high more often than not. He let himself blow up over little things, like her borrowing one of his pens. He would scream horrible things at her, convincing both of them that he hated her. She started locking her door at night, and he knew what caused it.

He needed to get away from her. He needed to get away from his family, he needed to get away. Zoe’s disgust with him grew until something switched and she gave up on him. And that was all he needed to try again, over Spring Break of junior year. That ended with him staying with their grandparents for the rest of the year, halfway across the country. He finished junior year in some school where no one knew him or bothered, and his mother promised to bring him back home over the summer for senior year.

Connor fought like never before that summer. Fought every attempt at rehabilitation, fought every threat of military school.

Fought and fought and fought and fought… Until he couldn’t fight anymore. Until the first day of senior year.

When he woke up, he hadn’t planned on dying. He’d planned on faking an illness, drinking the last of the milk, and staying home to get high. Well, he’d succeeded with two of the three. And then, his mother made him go to school, and that idiot Kleinman pissed him off, and he _shoved_ someone and then Zoe was there, shouting at him by the cafeteria.

“Quite possibly the most vulnerable kid on the planet, with a _broken fucking arm_ , and you shove him. What if you screwed up his arm, Connor? What if- And now _I_ have to apologize because I know you won’t-”

“I will,” Connor rolled his eyes, attempting to move past her.

“Yeah, right. As if you have any consideration for anyone other than yourself. I swear, Connor. You know sometimes, I feel bad for you. And then I remember that I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t because you’re an asshole, who hasn’t ever done anything that doesn’t help him.”

The boy’s eyes flitted to the side as he yawned, tired and unwilling to fight with his sister today. “I don’t think that was grammatically correct. And that isn’t true. Are we going to ignore the time I said nothing after I caught you-”

“Shut up, Connor! God, just- this is why you have no friends,” she muttered under her breath. “You need to fix your shit this year. Now, I’m going to find the poor kid who probably has two broken arms now.”

Connor stayed quiet as Zoe did a 360, apparently forgetting something. “I expect you to be by the car at three.” And then, because she was Zoe Sunshine Murphy (and being angry all the time was tiring and needed to counteract something, lest they have _two_ troubled Murphy kids). “Try to have a good day, Connor. I lo… I’ll see you later.”

He nodded, and she rolled her eyes, both hands on her backpack straps as she literally _bounced_ down the hallway. She never bounced around him. He impeded on her bounciness.

He did find Evan later, and apologized. Smiled and everything. The poor kid was… terrified. Totally, completely, terrified.

Connor caused that.

There was an awkward silence as Connor glanced down at his name on Evan's arm. A dark contrast on the otherwise perfect plaster. Like how Connor was a dark contrast in this otherwise perfect town.

He glanced down at the paper in his hand, and took a breath before speaking again. “This is yours, right? Dear Evan Hansen? That’s- your name…”

He glanced through the letter a bit more, and took a jerky step back as his eyes caught on a familiar name.

“Because there’s _Zoe_? Is this about my sister?”

He could feel himself getting hotter. He could feel his anger peaking the way it did when anyone mentioned anything even relating to him.

When had he gotten so out of control?

And then he was yelling at Hansen, pushing past his sister (who’d come looking for him, ‘cause Mom would kill her if she left without him and did he know how long she’d been waiting? What the hell Connor, get in the car, where are you _going_ ). The next thing he knew, he was halfway down the street, rereading the letter over and over again.

 

**Dear Evan Hansen,**

**This isn’t going to be an amazing week, or an amazing year ‘cause why would it be?**

**Oh, I know, because there’s Zoe and all my hope is pinned on Zoe who I don’t even know. And who doesn’t know me. But maybe if I could just talk to her then maybe. Maybe nothing would be different at all.**

**I wish everything was different. I wish I was a part of something. I wish that anything I said mattered to anyone. I mean, face it. Would anyone even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?**

**Sincerely your best and dearest friend,**

**Me**

 

Connor was home before he knew it. He threw his backpack on the ground by the door, jogging up half the stairs, and slowly walking up the rest. Was he in a hurry? Why? Why not?

He knocked on Zoe’s door and received no answer. He suddenly didn’t know if he saw her car in the driveway.

Did it matter?

_Yes. The last time you spoke to her, she yelled at you and you pushed her._

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the last texts they’d sent each other.

 

_Zo: i’m not waiting for you forever (June 25, 6:10 p.m.)_

_Con: Think of it as being fashionably late. (June 25, 6:10 p.m.)_

_Zo: not my fault you crashed ur f-ing car. I’m pulling out in 30 secs. (June 25, 6:15 p.m.)_

_Con: That’s what she said. And u better not bcuz i am literally walking down the stairs now. (June 25, 6:16 p.m.)_

She’d agreed to drop him off at the park before heading to her party. He remembered that. It was right after he’d crashed his car. He’d paid her to drive him around and keep quiet, despite him being on lockdown for crashing said car.

One week later, her parents found out about the arrangement over a lasagna. The parental unit grounded Connor for three weeks, Zoe for one. She’d gotten her car taken away for lying, and had to give Connor a hundred dollars back as payment for letting his secret slip. That had ended any civility on either of their parts.

Connor typed a quick sentence into the awaiting box, before pressing the home button. If he sent it now, there was a chance she would see it and find him. He was pretty sure his whole family had the ability to track him at any given moment.

Instead, he tucked his phone into his jacket pocket, grabbed the pillbox by his bedside, and emptied it into a Ziploc bag. His next stop was the bathroom for his sister’s sleeping pills. He knew she’d started taking them in the past week, most likely because of _him_. It had become quite the topic of conversation, the Murphy children needing medication. His father had given in to Connor a long time ago, but _Zoe_. That was new. No one was surprised when he fought it, but Connor was surprised he’d given up so quickly. Of course, Zoe was his favorite.

_**Murphy, Zoe R. 08/01/17** _   
_**Take one tablet before bed. Do not exceed recommended dosage in a 24 hour period. Do not share this medication with anyone.** _   
_**Estazolam .5 mg** _

He grabbed the medication, before his eyes flitted to another bottle.

_**Murphy, Zoe R. 07/13/17** _   
_**Take one tablet in the morning. Take second tablet at midday meal.** _   
_**Adderall 10 mg** _

_Get a move on, or someone is going to stop you._

Connor put the last bottle back, shutting the medicine cabinet slowly and quietly. He took care to trudge back downstairs at what he deemed was a normal pace.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning to stare at the bedroom down the hall. The one with the _Keep Out_ sign. Connor looked around the main level, wondering if there was anything that was solely his. The piano on one wall was primarily his father’s, though Connor and Zoe could both play. The blanket on the back of the couch was his mother’s, who refused to move it in case she got cold. The box of guitar polishes and waxes that Zoe had been bitching about for hours that morning ( _four days late, really? I wanted to get it done before school, and now they’re just screwing with me_ ) sat at the kitchen table.

But nothing that was only Connor’s. Maybe that drawing of his family that was framed on the fireplace mantel. Where Zoe had been a blue blob, because he was barely two. He liked that picture. He hoped they kept it framed.

Connor stared at it for a couple more minutes, contemplating his life. The memories. He finally turned around and walked out of the house, locking it behind him. No point in getting sentimental now, not when he was so close to succeeding.  
After all was said and done, he realized two things.

1\. He still had Evan Hansen’s letter in the pocket of his sweater.  
2\. He never finished sending that text to Zoe.

_Doesn't matter now_ , he thought, smiling at how quiet his mind finally was. It was peaceful. Too bad it wasn't always like this. _Someone will find it._

He chose the leaves of the tree to be his last view. They were really pretty. And it was so tall. How did trees get to be so tall? He regretted not knowing the answer. Maybe he'd find out wherever he was going.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Connor wondered how the world might look from up so high.


	2. One's Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan
> 
> "He learned to get back up. He also learned that it felt a lot better on the ground."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read those tags!!! This chapter deals with Suicidal Ideation, sooooo... Kindly click away if you're not sure you can handle it! Don't trigger yourself on purpose!
> 
> I hate this chapter with a passion. But I felt bad about not posting. So. Here. The first scene is based off an actual thing my little brother and mother experienced when he was eight or nine.
> 
> I love my boy, Evan. I'm mad this doesn't do him justice.

The first time Evan Hansen said he wanted to die, he was nine years old.

He was crying on his side of the couch, which used to be his father's side, and his mother could _not_ get him to calm down.

It might've had to do with the fact that she started the whole thing by telling him she needed him to try harder.

“Evan, I can't let you stay home so much. I have to work. And Millie already has Jared and the baby, I don't want to add more to her plate. You need to try harder-”

“I'm trying, and you say I'm not but I _am_! It isn't working! I can't get better- Mommy, I can't- Please don't make me go back. I don't want to go back to school, Mommy-”

Heidi pulled at her hair, turning Evan's face to look at hers. He pulled away.

“Evan, do you want to switch schools? No. Do you want to live with your dad?”

“ _No_!” Evan blubbered. He immediately felt bad for it, because he _loved_ his father, but he knew, deep down, he loved his mother more.

“Okay, Sweetheart. Look at me. I can't homeschool you. I need you to go back to school so I can afford for us to live in this house, okay?”

Evan balled up the piece of paper in his hand, sobbing harder. “I don't want to go, I don't _want to_. I wanna die! God, just let me die!”

Heidi shrieked and gathered her son in her arms, rocking him back and forth, _back and forth_. He fell asleep in a fit of anxiety.

The next morning, after Evan slept in his parents’ bed (more for Heidi than him), he shuffled to the kitchen to hear his mom talking on the phone.

“Yeah, no. I did. Just made the call. Evan's off those meds, we will put him on something else. He has an appointment today... Yes, he does… James, the anxiety isn't tolerable anymore. He needs medication, just not that one… It isn't like I _wanted_ to put him on meds! I-”

She spun around and froze at the sight of her son in his X-men pajamas, sliding into his seat.

“He's awake. Do you wanna talk to him?”

She held out the phone, mouthing _'Your dad'_ , and turned back around, finishing the eggs.

Evan focused on the voice in his ear.

_“Hey, Bud. How's my favorite son?”_

“Fine. Mom's making me go to school.”

_“Yeah. I know. Evan, if you want, you can always come out to Colorado! We have skiing, and mountains. I know how much you love the snow…”_

Evan went silent, biting his fingernail.

_“You don't have to. I know Spring Break is enough for you.”_

The boy rushed to apologize, but his father's smooth voice cut him off. _“Don't worry about it. Hey, I love you, you know that?”_

“I love you, too!”

_“And your mom and I… we just want you to be happy, but… You gotta go to school, y’know? It'll be over before you know it! I know it's hard, and it may feel like you wanna give up-”_

It sounded like the one and only James Hansen, lover of poetry, breaker of hearts, was crying. Evan wondered if he could give the phone back to his mom and escape to his room without there being hurt feelings. The math didn't add up.

_“I love you, Evan. Please don't give up on this. Your mom and I need you… Wanna hear something cool?”_

Evan sighed. He really didn't. He really wanted his father to stick with a topic for longer than five minutes at a time.

_“You're gonna be a big brother! You're gonna have a baby sister, Ev’. So, you gotta be good and strong for her. Show her that school is just a villain that you can squish, right?”_

Evan sighed again. He couldn't deal with all this right now. He’d surpassed anxious. “That's cool. You should name her Elliot. Like Evan, but… not. Kind of like, how you're here right now, but you're not.”

He hung up on his crying father and ran past his confused mother who snatched the phone, charging after him. All she got was a slammed door to the face.

 

The next time Evan thought about dying, he was twelve, and starting middle school. And he had gym. Which required changing out.

It was a quick thought, just a _Well, I could die instead. Just pop the pills in the front part of my backpack, and-_

He immediately shoved _that_ part of his brain away, focusing on Jared examining his ID, angry that they hadn't gotten his best angle.

It was like that a lot. Evan's brain thinking stupid things and Evan shoving them back. It wasn’t like he was trying to get rid of the stupid thoughts. Evan needed the thoughts. He _needed_ to hate himself because then it doesn’t hurt as badly when other people say them. He needed those thoughts like Jared needed his damned trumpet.

But when he said those stupid things out loud, bad things tended to happen. Like, when he muttered something about Sabrina Patel under his breath and her boyfriend spread a nasty rumor about him and Jared.

Or when he attempted to speak to tiny, seventh-grade, **my-big-brother-can-and-will-beat-your-ass** Zoe Murphy. His voice honest to God _squeaked_ and he hightailed it out of there before anyone noticed.

Or when, freshman year, he wrote a depressing poem in Creative Writing and Mr. B sent him to the counselor’s office. It was, if anyone asked, a poem about Jared beating him at Mario Kart 8 for the first time, which led to Evan’s downfall and depressive spiral. It was _not_ at _all_ about Jared ditching him for all the cool band kids, which led to Evan’s downfall and depressive spiral.

And honestly, who got that emotional about _childhood friends_ (babyhood, they’d known each other since Jared was three hours old) drifting apart? Not Jared. And not Evan. God, he should just… kill himself.

He could. Jared obviously wouldn’t care. The Kleinmans wouldn’t care. His father wouldn’t care. Elliot and Lily and his stepmother wouldn’t care. Zoe Murphy, she didn’t even _know_ him. His mother… she’d get over it. She would! No one would care. No one would care, he could do it. He could.

And then he met Alana Beck. Who seemed to get it, despite being somewhat insensitive and overbearing. Alana Beck, who was his first kiss, in a park, after their parents had forced them to go to the Sweetheart dance together. Who shook her head immediately after, wiping her mouth. Evan did the same. They looked at each other and laughed uncontrollably, agreeing to never do that again.

He couldn’t do that to Alana Beck. Neither of them had friends; he wouldn’t be the one to take away the only one she had.

And then Alana, too, went away. Started studying more and more, and acing more tests. Joining more clubs, taking on more sports. They hardly ever texted anymore, and whenever they tried to hang out, one of them (Alana) was busy. It was fine! Evan was proud of her. A junior who got a perfect score on the ACT. She had friends now! They still got to talk in the halls, though it was more pleasantries than actual conversation and inside jokes. Instead of jumping on his back, as Alana was won't to do, she waved from afar.

Alana, too, would be fine without him.

Sophomore year started and ended with him, alone. Junior year started and ended the same way.

The summer before senior year was hard. Jared was away at camp _all_ summer, as a CIT, and Alana was taking college courses and nannying. And Evan was an apprentice park ranger. 

He didn’t have any friends, his father and mother decided it would be easier, _financially_ (gotta pay for that new baby somehow), if he didn’t visit that summer. He could come out over winter break instead! And missed his birthday. The hospital called his mother into work and his father just… forgot. Called him later, the next day.

He got snapchats from his two closest peers. One of Jared flipping him off, with the caption **‘hap birth, tree fucker’**. And one from Alana and the kids she was nannying. **‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY to one of my closest acquaintances, from Lana, Georgie, and Cameron’**.

He had nothing keeping him there.

And so, he climbed a tree one day. A beautiful oak tree, swaying in the breeze. Got halfway up, climbed down, paced around it for a few minutes. Set his walkie-talkie on the ground, looked around. No one. He was alone, _so alone_. And he climbed again.

One foot, after the other. _Keep going_. One branch, then to another. _Finally going through with something_. He climbed higher and higher. _This is your last chance to back out. There aren’t even anymore footholds, what are you **doing**_. He climbed till the entire sun shined on his face.

And it was beautiful. Terrifying. He could see trees, so many trees. Hills, the sun. At least he knew. He knew what it looked like. It did, kinda, look be-

His foot slipped.

And his arms shot out, clinging to the branch with all his might. He could just pull himself up, he could just- climb down, not tell anyone. And then… let everything go back to normal. Depressing. Horrible.

He looked up. Looked down. Looked out. Shut his eyes so tight he forgot to breathe. _That won’t matter_.

Evan Hansen let go.

He learned to get back up. He also learned that it felt a lot better on the ground.

Evan’s senior year wasn’t great by any means. He gained Zoe Murphy, fame, and Alana back. He gained Jared indefinitely, confidence, love. He gained _so much_. And then lost it all. And it was his own fault.

All of it was his fault. And there were so many times in the year after that Evan wanted to die. Almost enough to make him try again. Wouldn’t it be ironic? Him dying in the same park that Connor died in? Or should he do it in the orchard?

He worried, though. If he killed himself, after the Connor Project, and #youwillbefound… If he went through with it. The aftermath would be terrible. It would all be so terrible. So much worse than losing him. It’d be losing two boys’ legacies. Losing their families. The only ones who might survive the aftershocks were Zoe, and Evan’s sisters. But they’d be so scarred...

So, Evan stuck it out. Got a job at Pottery Barn, avoided Connor’s orchard, became happy. Forced himself until it started to feel real. Made polite small-talk when he ran into Cynthia at the grocery store, letting her know he was fine. Letting her hug him and make comments about how _tall_ he’d gotten. Respectfully declined her invitation to dinner with the family. She didn’t insist on it this time.

“Maybe it’s for the better,” she’d nodded, patting his arm before putting a hand to his cheek. “Evan. Are you okay?”

She looked at him the way only a mother could.

“If I’m not,” he breathed, “I will be. Um, thank you. And, I’m sorry.”

Cynthia tutted. “Evan… I want you to know that I’ve forgiven you. I can’t say about Larry and _Zoe_ , but. I have forgiven you.”

Evan exhaled sharply at that. “You didn’t have to- I don’t deserve it.”

“That doesn’t matter.” She stared into his eyes, and he saw Connor in hers. That last time… they’d talked. Before the Incident. Soft. Pitying.

“Thank you.”

She simply nodded, and let Evan continue his shopping. He checked out with half the items on his list, before sobbing in his car for a half hour. Not just because _Oh, my God. Cynthia Murphy forgave me. For something horrible._ But because _Oh, my God. I don’t want to die anymore. I’ll be okay._

Evan knew, then. He had a future. He was going to go to college. He’d be okay whether or not he graduated. He’d be okay whether or not he found someone to love forever. He’d be okay. He would get through it.

He would get back up. Not because he had to, but because… He wanted to. Evan wanted to get better. That was a weird feeling.

No, not weird. Well, yes, weird. But only because it was unusually good.

Good.

Evan was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> US Suicide Prevention Number: 1-800-273-8255  
> UK Suicide Prevention Number: 0800 068 41 41
> 
> I had three different endings for this chapter. I'm still not sure I went with the right one. It's fine, I'm fine.
> 
> Last: Zoe
> 
> "If she's being completely honest with herself, then no, of course not. Zoe hates herself."
> 
> My daughter doesn't deserve this.
> 
> Please comment and/or hit that Kudos button! And hit me up on Tumblr @the-second-to-last-jedi


	3. One's Not Quick Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoe
> 
> "If she's being completely honest with herself, then no, of course not. Zoe hates herself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting. Forgive me. Also, I didn't edit this as much as I usually would because ya'll I'm tired.
> 
> Honestly, I just wanted to finish this before spring break, so... Go me.
> 
> CHECK THE TAGS CHECK THE TAGS CHECK THE TAGS!!! Chapter deals with, like, everything.

Zoe Murphy wasn’t a typical child.

Sure, she did normal things. Watched cartoons, did gymnastics, played guitar, asked for too many cookies, had a weird fixation on the Titanic, and an adorable lisp.

But she also had a fixation on anything with a sharp and/or pointy end, and she wouldn’t eat _anything_ for days at a time, landing herself in hospitals quite a few times in her sixteen years. She was quiet, but almost scarily so.

No one seemed to notice the last few things. Ever. Not when she was eight, and she cut her hand with the big orange kitchen knife. Larry had rushed her to the hospital, and she couldn’t work on the uneven bars for two weeks while it healed, but no one asked why she did it. She just really wanted to know what it felt like.

No one realized that she stopped eating whenever she was stressed. That was usually around the time Connor would throw his fits. The first time he smacked her, and not himself was the first time she was in the hospital, fainting three days after it happened. She didn’t blame Connor, though, because he was just different. And their parents were always yelling at him. Always.

Zoe wouldn’t talk because if she talked, then people would make fun of her lisp, like Matt Holtzer. She _didn’t_ talk a lot, especially if no one was directly talking to her. Didn’t see the point in wasting words when no one was gonna listen to her anyway.

Like over Thanksgiving Break, when she was thirteen. And her brother was falling apart, and her parents were stressed because her grandparents were coming to town. And she was trying to help, but people kept pushing her around, and away, and-

Her brother tried to kill himself a week later.

She saw him when she came home from practice, and barged into his room because why was he crying?

The next hour was a blur. She was trying to figure out what was more important. Her breathing immediately or her brother not bleeding to death in her arms.

She remembers screaming _Why’d you do it? Connor, why?_ And not getting an answer. She remembers being guided into a police car and following her brother, and they were asking for her parent’s phone number but she couldn’t breathe.

The house was quieter without Connor than with it. Which was a given. The boy could make quite a bit of noise when angered.

She slept in his room every night, even after he got back because that was her _big brother_. She had to make sure he was okay. And if he wasn’t, then she could make it better. She could make _him_ better if she tried hard enough.

And she couldn’t stop if she wanted him to get better. She couldn’t let her stupid parents get in the way. She couldn’t let them stop her from sneaking into his room at night and move her. She couldn’t…

Zoe had to get past him screaming at her. _She could make him better._ Zoe had to look past the death threats. _She could make him nicer_. Zoe had to love him no matter what. _And maybe he’d love her back. Or maybe not._ Zoe couldn’t handle him screaming at her. _She just touched his tap shoes_. Zoe couldn’t look past the death threats. _He was gonna break it down. He was gonna kill her for no reason_. Zoe couldn’t love her brother anymore. _But she tried, she tried, she tried so hard_.

She didn’t sleep anymore at night. She kept pushing herself to handle more difficult skills in gymnastics and wondering whether or not they’d kill her. They never did. Was she happy about that? Of course.

But if she was being completely honest with herself, then no, of course not. Zoe hated herself. She deserved to die.

She stopped focusing so much on school. She never could focus that well, and she’d almost failed more classes than she could count. But now she actually _was_ on the brink of flunking her sophomore year, and her mother was making her meet with doctors, and they put her on sleeping meds, and Adderall, and she’d have to hide this from her brother, like everything else.

Her father fought them on it for a solid two weeks before giving up, and Zoe almost hated him for it. Hated him for giving up so easily with her, but not with Connor. But she didn’t have the energy to hate anyone anymore. Except for Connor.

Especially after what he did during the Halloween party. He just _had_ to barge in on her making out with Sabrina Patel, and not even announce his presence. No, but he did take a picture and send it to her. For blackmail, not to be a cute brother. Every time she even thought about doing anything, he brought up that damned picture and threatened to show everyone. Namely, their grandparents.

They knew Connor was gay, but they didn’t know Zoe was pansexual. And she would never tell them, especially not when she was still figuring it out herself. Connor had been a whole thing, and her grandmother had basically disowned him. But Connor didn’t need validation as much as she did.

Which is why she hadn’t killed herself that day. Why she stared at the cliff ahead of her, and watched the sunset, and shoved the bottle of vodka back under the passenger seat, and reversed her car.

It’s why he’d tried _twice_.

She envied him.

That had probably been the least problematic year of her life. Despite the blackmail, and the suicide attempt. Once Connor was gone, shipped off to her grandparents' house (the other ones, not the homophobic bitch and asshole douche), it was almost like the Murphys were normal. Almost like she didn’t have to spend every waking moment wondering whether or not she would die.

She had sleepovers, and climbed trees, and made out with Sabrina Patel all she wanted until Connor came back mid-summer and Sabrina broke up with her, and she was about to start the most stressful year of her life.

Connor was actually good, for about a month. He was clean. He resisted military school and rehab. And then it flipped back.

Just in time for the school year.

Just in time for him to try again.

[]

Evan Hansen was hers, and only hers.

He was hers when he touched her like _that_ , and when he told her _those things_ , and he would listen to her. He was especially hers when he listened.

The first time she needed him to _just listen_ was about two weeks into the Connor Project, a week after they’d started dating. He’d gone to touch her face, and she’d flinched away, her eyes shut tightly. And she trusted him. She knew him. She even thought that she might’ve loved him. But he’d done it so quickly, and her first instinct was to protect herself….

And so she told him why. She told him her version of Connor, and he listened, and he nodded, and he looked so **angry** , at Connor, at himself. But then he’d just kissed her, telling her he was sorry. Sorry for pushing his version of her brother onto him.

They went to his grave.

She cried for the brother she didn’t get to know, but also for the one she _did_ know. The one who used her medication to kill himself. The one who punched a hole through their shared wall. The one who used to tuck her into bed when their parents were fighting. The one who didn’t even know who Evan Hansen was, but was still _so overprotective_ of his little sister.

Which was maybe why it hurt so much that Evan lied. Because he _had_ lied, about pretty much all of it. But when it came to Zoe… The line between true and fake blurred so badly that there was no way of knowing what was real.

And no way to ever find out.

She saw him again, at the very end of the year, at his graduation. They’d given her Connor’s diploma, and Evan stood next to her, not even trying to talk to her. She wanted to talk to him.

She got her chance, at the end of her own year, and ended up meeting with him a few times over the summer. They made something resembling a clean slate and started over.

He helped her go through her brother’s things, right before college started. She’d been sorting through his flannels, packing them in her own box, as he scrolled through his phone. And then dropped it on the ground, before diving for it, making sure it wasn’t broken. It wasn’t.

Zoe took it from his shaky hands, an eyebrow raised as she read what was seemingly so important.

Oh.

It was a text message, to her. It never got delivered.

 

_**Con:** I hope you’re happy. I’m not trying to sound mean, I really do hope you’re happy. You should know that whatever bit of happiness I’ve had these past few years has most likely been because of you. Do everything you want to do both now and in the future. I can't hold you back anymore. I swear I never wanted to. Go kiss that girl you had a huge crush on like three years ago. (Sabrina doesn’t deserve you.) Go to a music college. Find a great person to spend the rest of your life with, or don’t. Become more than just ‘Connor Murphy’s sister’. Don’t think about everything, just do. Be a little reckless. But not too reckless. More than anything in the world, I want you to have the best, fullest, longest life possible. My biggest regret is failing as your big brother. I love you. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry._

 

Evan watched her with wide, sad eyes as she wiped away her tears.

“Wow. Who knew Connor Murphy was a sap?” she smirked, pressing the send button. Her phone chimed.

 

[]

 

College went great. Evan wasn’t too far, and neither were her parents. She graduated on time. She became more than _Connor Murphy’s sister_.

Zoe fulfilled her brother’s last wish.

Yes, life was still difficult. She still had to overcome so many aspects of herself that had been damaged due to her childhood. But it got better, _so much better_.

It got better when she produced her first album. It got better when she married the love of her life. It got better when she saw the coast of Ireland for the first time. It got better when her son was born. It got better when her daughter first said _Mama_. And it hurt a lot when they asked about that boy in the picture with Grandma Cynthia and Grandpa Larry, with the weird eyes. It hurt when they asked about that video about her brother. But it got better then, too, because she got to explain about their Uncle Connor, and the legacy he left.

And Zoe’s glad she didn’t decide to kill herself that day. So glad, because then she wouldn’t have been able to see this.

She’s really happy she gets to see this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> US Suicide Prevention Number: 1-800-273-8255  
> UK Suicide Prevention Number: 0800 068 41 41
> 
> Zoey Murphee does gay. I'M SORRY SHE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS ISH.
> 
> Oh, my goodness. I actually finished a fic for once in my life. What the heck.
> 
> Add those comments, if you so please. Thank you all for sticking with me through this story!
> 
> My Tumblr is, of course, the-second-to-last-jedi. Feel free to DM me. I don't sleep, soo...

**Author's Note:**

> US Suicide Prevention Number: 1-800-273-8255  
> UK Suicide Prevention Number: 0800 068 41 41
> 
> One is done. The ending was anticlimactic, but that is because I think that Connor would've thought that way. He wouldn't have needed anything spectacular.
> 
> Next: Evan
> 
> "He learned to get back up. He also learned that it felt a lot better on the ground."
> 
> Comments are my main source of nutrition. Catch me on Tumblr @the-second-to-last-jedi


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